Conflagration

Chapter 1- The Girl in the Machine Shop

            It had been a particularly cold November, the wind whistling through the narrow cobbled streets, with intermittent rain pouring out of the skies as though the Gods themselves were punishing Halifax. A morning that could start with the sun shining out of a gorgeous azure sky could end with a torrential downpour. It was enough to drive a poor man mad.

            Indeed, the weather was playing havoc with one poor man, a Sir James Grimshaw, son of a minor earl back in the home country, on loan to DalhousieUniversity’s archaeology department, to teach about ancient Egypt for a two semester turn. He was halfway through the first term, and had believed there to be a no more dour place weather wise to live besides England, but was being proven horribly wrong.

            The wind whistled constantly through the streets, shivering down his spine no matter how many layers he put on, no matter how woolen his waistcoats, how thick his mittains. He got many a strange look whilst travelling through the streets, but that could be due to other factors.

            Mainly the fact that the world was embroiled in a war, and he was not over fighting.

            In the defence of Professor Grimshaw, he had attempted to enlist. Severe Asthma coupled with completely flat feet had him rejected, as breaking into any sort of run made him wheeze as though his lungs were attempting to escape from his body, and he was a bit out of shape from years spent behind desks surrounded by books rather than being robust out in the world, playing cricket or rugby like his peers. He’d attempted fencing once, but his spectacles had been knocked from his face and he’d made a fool of himself, falling over as he tried to reach into the mask and push them back onto his nose.

            He opened the door to the library building, marching inside with a shake as he began to unwind the first of two scarves from his face. One of the assistant librarians, a round faced woman with a severe bun but kind eyes shook her head at him from behind a cart full of books.

            “Dr. Grimshaw, you look positively arctic. It’s really not that cold.” She said, shaking her head.

            “Madame McInty, I spent the years before the war began in Cairo, cataloguing and translating scrolls, and when the war broke out, I came home to attempt to enlist before being sent here. This is freezing in comparison to the desert.” He tipped his hat with a small chuckle.

            “It must have been so exciting, seeing all that desert.” She sighed, shaking her head in wonder.

            “Mostly dusty.” He replied, taking off his coat and draping it across his arm.

            “And all those exotic people!” She crowed. “It must have been something, meeting people so different from the likes of you and me.”

            “I have learned that people are truly the same, no matter where you meet them. We all live, love, and learn.” He replied with a quip, giving a slight tip of his hat to her again before pacing off towards his office.

            He’d been given a small office for his work in the basement of the library, set with only one tiny window, which let in an appallingly small amount of light. This was luckily not an issue, as he enjoyed the solitude and the quiet, something his position in Cairo had not afforded him. His office there had been granted to him with all pretenses of grandeur, the son of an Earl, no matter how minor, was considered a very important person to employ, even in this rapidly changing world. He’d been uncomfortable with the degree of deference the Egyptian academics had given him, and had never quite felt as though he were their peer, treated more as an outsider with whom they were wary of. It was as though they’d felt he would report on them in some way, as though his family status gave him some sort of authority, which to him was a ridiculous notion.